Do not stand at my grave and weep,
Your piteous words disturb my Sleep.
You may have laughed, to see me cry,
So why do you mourn after I die?
A word before, could all have changed,
We could be happy, so mad, deranged,
But now I cannot hear your words,
As I am the food of carrion birds.
My soul somewhere with vengeance burns,
Where you shall return, when Death yearns,
And I will wait with spiteful glee,
To know that you are just as Dead as Me.